No sex no drugs no luck no love

When it comes to today

Stay if you wanna love me stay...

Oh don't be shy,

Let's cause a scene.

Glamorous, indie rock and roll is what I want,

It's in my soul,

It's what I need.

Dean actually gives the whole arrangement a lot of thought. An uncharacteristically large amount of thought.

On the one hand – hot sex with an even hotter guy, who was still just a little mysterious, and who had, not eight hours ago brought him off with unquestionable enjoyment and talent.

On the other hand, the guy in question was seventeen and went to the school in which he was currently employed.

He could kind of imagine the news headlines if that little piece of information ever slipped out.

He was also supposed to be looking after Sam, and making sure his Dad didn't go out and drink himself stupid on the rent money taped to the back of the toilet.

Though Sam could look after himself.

And whatever he did, nothing got between John and drink for long. He'd sneak out and run up credit if he could, then it was left to Dean to pay off the heavies when they inevitably came calling.

And Cas had known his own mind...had come to him...

So really it came down to – Sex vs Doing What Many Would Consider The Right Thing.

What it actually came down to was Dean taking the impala and cruising past the general store once night had fallen. Right on time the shadowy bundle of Cas peeled itself from where it had been sitting, scrunched at the foot of the wall, and jogged to the side of Dean's car.

He felt uncomfortably like a regular customer trawling for hookers.

Cas got into the car and Dean took a moment to look at him. Out of uniform and clad only in a pair of skinny jeans and a vest beneath his canvas jacket, the kid looked even skinnier, but lithe and almost pretty with it – pale and striking.

"Drive around the corner and keep going straight – there used to be a Wendy's, now it's just a parking lot." Cas says, and as he fumbles a cigarette free from his pocket, Dean notices the tattoo of a snake on his wrist.

As soon as Cas lights up, Dean can tell it's not a cigarette, he reaches over and seizes the joint, stubbing it out in the ashtray.

Cas gives him a questioning look.

"You don't need that." Dean says firmly.

"Why?" He's not petulant, but curious, like a child (and doesn't that make Dean's skin crawl a little?) being offered a nebulous treat.

"Because, we're going to have a good time." Dean says, pulling into the shadowy square of asphalt that had once indeed been a parking lot. There are no lights around it so as soon as the car's inside light blinks off, the interior of the car blacks out.

His breathing is very loud in the dark.

Cas comes across the darkness, soft, scuffling thighs pressing into the seat on either side of Dean. His warm hands, calluses between the fingers from holding pens and cigarettes and joints, the scent of tobacco clinging to them – touch he sides of Dean's face. His neck.

"You know the part, where you're just about to kiss someone?" Cas murmurs, and his breath smells of mint toothpaste and regular cigarettes, his lips catching with a dry pop as he speaks. "That – is my favourite part." He keeps their lips just barely within reach, so close that Dean's body starts to seize up with tension, with craving and want. The boy's hands stroke his face, his hips rock gently, intermittently against Dean's own, yet still they aren't kissing, though he can feel Cas's hunger to be doing so.

Each time Dean moves his head forwards, the boy shifts back with a needy little noise, hips pressing fully into his own. It's weird to be so hard, aching in his jeans against Cas's own stiff cock, and yet still want his mouth to be touched more than anything else, to feel all that hot breath and quick tongued pleasure pass his lips.

Cas's mouth touches his, hesitantly, like sinking into a too-hot bath. His fingers thread into Dean's semi-short hair and he crushes their chests tightly together, moaning emphatically in response to Dean's efforts.

They kiss for what could be a minute or a day, Dean's eyes are closed and there's a hungry, not quite clean shaven mouth against his. The kiss is open and messy and slick with the minty tablets of his teeth catching at Dean's lip. It's honest, more than anything.

At some point Cas's hand slaps behind him at the controls on the dash and some random station comes on the radio, slow, painfully drawn out indie rock drawling out of the speakers. The younger man laughs quietly in the back of his throat, tongue running out over his bottom lip.

Dean drags him back for another kiss.

There is something addictive about Cas, Dean has decided, something in the smoky, insubstantial movement of him, the heat rolling off of his musty skin and the hot, sweet, musk of him, a mixture of previously inhaled grass and pillow mussed hair.

Castiel for his part is enthralled with the weight, the sheer muscular bulk of the man he's straddling. The strength of Dean's hands on him, the insistent roll of his hips that presses the hardness in his battered jeans up against Castiel's own. The car around them is dark and old and impressive, and it feels so bad, so adult and wrong and utterly glorious, to be pressing his knees into the leather seats of the impala, with the school's janitor underneath him, lazily fucking his mouth with his slick tongue.

He's enjoying it enough that he doesn't wish he'd gotten to smoke his joint. That much alone says something for Dean's prowess.

Cas leant back and slipped out of his jacket, dropping it languidly to the floor. He plucks at the bottom of his vest and slides it up over his head, wadding the cloth and tossing that to one side as well. His long fingers return to skate down his flat torso, tracing the space between his slight pectorals and down to his navel.

Dean attacks his mouth again hungrily, hands running up Cas's naked back and down to his half uncovered hips. Cas's arms rest on the seat on either side of Dean's head, sliding forwards until they're chest to chest. Their hips are circling now, rubbing denim to denim furiously as Dean's hands slide on Cas's sweat blooming skin and their mouths meet, sucking and biting messily. Cas moans and the sound is like an animal on the prowl, a stray dog in heat. His hand grips Dean's hair...and then the pressure of him is gone, and Dean's grinding up to empty air, Cas have slipped off of him and down into the foot space.

Dean leans back in to the seat and stretches lazily, he feels like his whole fucking body's on fire. The rustle of plastic and foil brings him back to the present, and he looks down to see, through the dark, Cas's long pale fingers flicking through the pockets of his discarded jacket. He produces a small, square packet between two fingers. 'Best of You' is playing on the radio, the opening bars a solid heartbeat as Dean watches Cas tilt his pale face up to look at him.

"Open up." Cas husks, and Dean's hand falls to his fly of its own accord.

Cas rips the packet open with his white teeth and efficiently rolls the sheath over Dean's cock. He bats the older man's hand away from the base and Dean has time to detect the scent of cheap grape suckers before the breath is punched from him. Cas's mouth on his dick is almost painfully good, hot and tight and earnest. Dean tosses his head back against the seat, one hand fisting in Cas's hair and the other clamping onto his bare shoulder. The radio blares screaming lyrics and guitar and Dean's hips pitch up, he's gasping, panting, and Cas just sucks harder, works his mouth up and down, lips stretched tight as his tongue flicks and works around the shaft.

Cas's head moves up and down rhythmically beneath Dean's hand, and Dean's eyes are screwed shut against the darkness of the car. He can still hear Cas though, and the sounds are wet and greedy, the messy suction of latex and saliva, the rough humming at the back of his throat at a particularly awkward angle, he makes no pretence of enjoying the experience of giving head – but he's going to town anyway, determined to make it good, hard and fast and glorious.

Dean's body goes first limp and then coiled tight as he feels himself turning shuddery and warm, the music and the wet sound of those gorgeous lips on him fade out and he's jerking upwards in pleasure, the first shot like a hot lance through him, followed by the loosening of his limbs, the slower pulses that come with his aftershocks. Cas slips him from his mouth and removes the rubber with a deft hand, tossing it into the ashtray.

Dean lies for a moment, getting his breath back, then he twists, pulling Cas up and urging him against the far door, legs on the seat, so that Dean can half sit, half lie between them. He gestures at Cas and the boy gets it, handing him a wrapped condom and leaning back, on arm bent behind his head, the other resting on his stomach.

Dean opens the skinny jeans and pushes them down with a little difficulty. The skin beneath is creamy and pale, Cas isn't wearing underwear. As with the previous condom, this one is also flavoured, though Dean doesn't know how cough-syrup cherry is supposed to be better than the skin and pre-come itself. He slides it on and the kid mewls pleasantly, settling his hips against the seat. Soft rock plays on the radio as Dean leans over him and takes the sheathed cock in his mouth. Soon he's got a long fingered hand clenched in his hair, another gently probing his cheek and a panting, bucking teenager under him, whining and wriggling and tossing his head from side to side.

He's gorgeous.

When Cas finally comes, so hard and fast that his eyes roll back and he goes still, Dean pulls off and disposes of the rubber. They sit for a minute, Dean massaging his jaw to stop the ache, Cas leaning insensibly against the door.

Cas is the first to speak, sliding upright and tugging his pants up. "Can you take me home?"

"Sure." Dean's a little blindsided by that one as he watches Cas dredge up his vest and jacket. "Did I do something...wrong, or..."

Cas looks at him.

"No. It's just late and..." he shrugs. "I thought you were done so..." Another shrug.

"Well, if you want to go home." Dean starts the engine and slowly steers out of the lot. Cas stretches in the seat next to him.

"It was good." He says, as if to soften the blow of his sudden want to leave.

"Good." Dean agrees.

Castiel wriggles across the seat and presses to his side gently.

"We could...I don't know, meet again, or something." He hedges.

"I'd like to." Dean allows. "Just...uh...keep this quiet, ok?"

Castiel huffs softly, then turns and nuzzles the space behind Dean's ear.

"I don't get people in trouble." He whispers.

Dean's kind of ashamed that this kind of turns him on.

Ok, updates will happen sometime in the future, I'm going on vacation for a week! So I'll be back to business afterwards.